


if only just for now.

by mocchiballs



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:44:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10088189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocchiballs/pseuds/mocchiballs
Summary: “What are you planning on doing next season?”Retire. Fade out. Withdraw. Watch his hands get paler, thin wrists and thin veins and thin hair and thin time. That is, until he meets Yuuri.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hi! im back after 834 years with a really sad and short angst thing that you can enjoy if u want lol

Victor’s known it since he was coughing up blood into the toilet in the middle of practice, black-red droplets blooming into pink-tinged water, grasping at strands of silvery hair, shaky fingers, shaky knees, shaky vision.

He’s known it since he was losing stamina, getting tired far, far too soon into practice, pulsing and throbbing in his head, in his chest, quads turning into singles, breaking, breaking, breaking.

He’s known it since he was standing in the shower, watching too much hair slither down the drain, headaches and chills and fever and sickness, he’s hysteria and stone and a vacuum for a soul--and he isn’t Victor, not anymore. 

Surprising people after a fifth win at the Grand Prix final is out of the question--after reaching your highest high, where else is there to go but down?

_“What are you planning on doing next season?”_

Retire. Fade out. Withdraw. Watch his hands get paler, thin wrists and thin veins and thin hair and thin time. That is, until he meets Yuuri.

The banquet, the dancing, the talking, the laughing--when was the last time Victor enjoyed himself so much? Danced and twirled for hours on end without a pounding in head or aching in his lungs? Far too long ago.

And then, Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki, in all of his splendor, flushed and hot and magic, he breaks Victor. Breaks the facade, the ice barrier, everything Victor had worked for so long and so hard for, he takes and he shatters it, until Victor’s nothing anymore--what can he do?

What can he do, other than go home from the banquet weak and paper-thin? Preoccupied with the concept of Yuuri, day and night, longing for some form of contact, what else can he even _begin_ to think about when he finds the video of Yuuri’s _Stay Close To Me_ , other than to travel to Japan and find the boy who was a drug, liquid euphoria, the boy who managed to seduce Victor Nikiforov with one single, drunken dance?

He gets to dance with Yuuri again, and it’s all he could have ever asked for. He skates with him, blades carving out love in cursive, and their lips dance against one another like they were made to do so. Hands intertwined, fingers tapping out silent melodies against cold skin. He waltzes with Yuuri, just to try it out, bumping into kitchen counters and stools and stepping on toes, and Victor swears he’s never felt happiness before him.

Victor didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to think about it, but Yuuri gave him a reason to live when his supply was dwindling, and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want the happiness, the loving, the unconditional caring only to have to leave it in the end, only to _hurt_ in the end, because how could he handle it if he _had_ Yuuri and then had to leave him again?

So Victor keeps quiet about it, and it works for a while, but Yuuri isn’t stupid. Isn’t so careless to let Victor go unnoticed, slipping into the shower to drown in steam and sobs. Isn’t so naive to think nothing of the pills shoved into the back of cabinets, the constant nosebleeds, that one time Victor blacked out in the middle of practice--Yuuri knows, and Victor knows that, and neither of them want to.

“Victor.” Yuuri is saturated with the afternoon, saturated with longing and white-hot warmth recognized as fear.

“Yes, Yuuri?” Cold fingers, cold hands, and Victor knows he doesn’t want to hear whatever’s coming next.

Flinching gazes, dishevelled words, Yuuri says, “Are you… are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“No, I mean, _physically_.”

Victor fumbles with the phone in his cold fingers, freezing hands, drops it into his lap. Smiles a white, white smile. “Are you questioning my athleticism?”

“Yes,” Yuuri says. 

Victor’s smile drops, and _no, no, no,_ Victor doesn’t want this, doesn’t want Yuuri to _care_ because that means it’s real and it _can’t_ be real, so Victor nods, nods again, _yesyesyes_ just to convince Yuuri and himself, but it’s worthless. Suddenly, Victor’s finding himself teary and shattered and all he has is Yuuri to hold onto for whatever time he has left and _no, no, no, no, no_ , he doesn’t want _this._

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” and Victor is staring at the empty, empty wall in front of him and twisting his ice-cold fingers into Yuuri’s shirt, his hair, Victor is broken and he’s breaking and he can’t stop.

Victor doesn’t want to die. Victor doesn’t want to leave--not anymore. Victor wants to live, he wants Yuuri and everything Yuuri is made of, everything he has to offer and more, he wants to drown in night-black hair and chocolate eyes. All Victor wants is Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri and that’s the one and only thing he can’t hold onto forever. 

Victor wants this, all of it--Victor wants _Yuuri,_ if only for a week, a day, an hour. 

Victor wants it, if only just for now.

**Author's Note:**

> @ me on twitter (@mocchiballs) if u wanna screm or chill teehee   
> i really need to get back into the swing of writing :[


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